


Love is the unfamiliar Name

by la_faerie



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1441324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everyone will be here, because the Cardinal is dead. The Cardinal is dead, and Anne must speak with Aramis.</i> </p>
<p>or, Anne comes up with a plan in the wake of Cardinal Richelieu’s death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is the unfamiliar Name

**Author's Note:**

> [This picture](http://37.media.tumblr.com/c176afbb7a7b803de161b7380bbc5a5f/tumblr_n3ntdeXbgh1tuzqgto1_500.jpg) of Anne from the set of S2 had me wondering if she was in mourning, and then I began to think about how she would feel about Aramis/her baby after the Cardinal's death. Then this whole thing got a bit cheesy.
> 
> The title is from TS Eliot's Little Gidding.
> 
> Thank you to Ari for being very chic & kind in reading this over.

 

 

_“I want to be queen!” She was laughing and trembling._  
—Royalty, Arthur Rimbaud

 

 

Anne rarely wears black. The dress feels strange to her, stiff with embroidery and jewels, because even mourning has to look ornate. She moves in it, and it’s heavy, like it might pull her down. The Cardinal’s last little joke on her, perhaps.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the Cardinal’s death had been a laborious process. They all should have known that he would be too stubborn and tenacious to give in easily.

At first, she and Louis had been summoned to his quarters to pray and offer their last respects. When the next day dawned and Richelieu was still among the living, Louis ordered that he be moved to closer quarters in the palace, still kept far away from the baby, but close enough to be more convenient when paying the now endless last respects.

And so, Anne had lived the past week trying to care for her son and for herself with medical specialists pacing the halls and various members of the clergy ducking in and out of the palace, the scent of smoky incense not enough to mask the smell of illness and impending death.

“It’s odd to think of the Cardinal as a person who falls ill and dies,” Louis had commented after their visit on the third day. “I can’t imagine him being born. I can’t imagine Armand ever having a mother.”

Anne gave a little smile. “Perhaps that’s the trouble now. His body and his holy immortal soul are in conflict.”

“Yes, this whole business is taking an awfully long time,” Louis huffed. “Life is tedious sometimes, I never knew death could be the same. How boring.”

Anne touched Louis’ hand. “I’m going to check on the baby now.”

“Oh!” He brightened instantly. “I haven’t seen him yet today. Tell him that I hope he’s on his best behavior for his mother.”

“I’ll give him a kiss from you.”

Anne and Louis had parted to go their separate ways at the staircase, Anne taking deep, practiced breaths all the way to the palace wing now known as the nursery.

 

She avoids using the term “father” when she can. Louis dotes on the baby, and she doesn’t take pleasure in being mean. She doesn’t want to make more of a fool out of her husband than she already has.

She has to keep walking, one step at a time, and breathing. Because sometimes, she’s forced to stop and lean one hand against the wall as memories crash through into the carefully constructed reality around her.

Anne forgets how to breathe in those moments, as it feels like Aramis is right there with her again. He’s standing up, wrapping his arms around her, and they move as one back toward the bed. She lets out a choked-off moan as the two of them lay back onto the mattress, the weight of him delicious on top of her. One of his legs presses in-between her own, and she opens up to him, not because she’s expected to, not because it’s her duty as a wife, but simply because she wants to.

Perhaps it was a selfish act on her part, but Anne isn’t going to make herself sick over it. She isn’t going to let it weigh her down. The most she can do is to stand up straight, and keep walking, keep breathing.

 

Today, in her mourning costume, moving and breathing have become difficult. The palace is bustling with people and activity ahead of the official funeral mass. Everyone will be here in attendance. Everyone.

She catches sight of him, then. It’s really him this time, not her imagination or memory playing tricks on her. He enters the corridor flanked by his fellow musketeers, sweeping his hat off his head and offering polite smiles and condolences to everyone he sees. He has not seen her yet.

His hair is a little more tame than usual, as though he’s made a real effort for a funeral mass, and Anne allows herself a smile at this. He can try to appear less unruly, but it does nothing to dampen his charm. And charm has a refreshing quality to it after being married to France for so many years.

Anne slows her pace to let one of her ladies catch up. She has a message to be delivered. Everyone will be here, because the Cardinal is dead. The Cardinal is dead, and Anne must speak with Aramis.

 

The next day, Anne is still wearing black, but a different dress. This one is lighter, and more appropriate for walking outdoors, which is where she has contrived to meet Aramis. She spies him from a distance, attempting to look nonchalant waiting by one of the hedgerows, but he keeps fussing with his hat, taking it off and putting it back on again.

He takes it off for good when he sees her approach, and bows his head. “Your Highness,” he says, overly formal. She doesn't like it.

“Please,” Anne says in a carefully controlled voice. “There is no need for that. We are old friends by now.”

“Indeed.” He stands up and there’s a little gleam of merriment in his eye.

Anne turns to her lady. “It’s alright, Camille. Aramis and I are going to walk over to that oak tree and back. Will you wait for me by the pond? ” Camille gives a nod and a little curtsey before leaving as subtly as possible. “So,” Anne turns back to Aramis. “Will you walk with me now?”

He leans in as close as he dares, and murmurs, “Nothing would make me happier.”

They walk together in silence for a little while, wandering off the garden path and cutting through a patch of grass. It’s nice just being next to him again, reacquainting herself with the way he smells, like gunpowder and something surprisingly aromatic like lavender.

She remembers that lavender, the way she could smell it in his hair and taste it on his skin. He had kissed her neck while building to a rhythm inside her, and she luxuriated in it for a little while. Then she gave a little pat to his shoulder in warning, and hitched her leg up higher for a better angle, for _more_. He made a noise then, feeling the change, too. He moved to kiss her on the lips, open and deep, and she tasted the lavender on his tongue as they moaned into each other’s mouths. It tasted smooth, unexpected, refreshing, and she savored it.

Anne shakes her head, physically shaking herself out of the memory as they approach the old oak tree. “I saw you yesterday,” she says, coming to a stop under the shady branches.

“And I saw you,” Aramis replies. “But I wasn’t sure… Well, you were with your husband.” He sets one foot on an old gnarled root. “I was glad to receive your note and to get the chance to really see you today.”

“It has been too long since we’ve had the chance to really look at each other.”

Aramis gives a wry smile. “You’ve been recovering from giving birth and caring for an infant, I think you have an excuse.”

“My confinement was a long one,” Anne admits. “Perhaps I was overly cautious, but I wanted to be careful.” She can talk honestly with him about this, he knows. “Considering that I’m older now, and knowing what happened last time.”

His expression softens and he reaches out a hand. He traces his thumb around her wrist, and then gives her hand a squeeze. “It must be five months now since he was born, yes?”

Anne nods. “Five months exactly. He’s already very strong and difficult to keep still. He’ll be wreaking havoc on the palace for years to come, I’m sure. I’ll blame that on his father.”

Aramis lets out a laugh, and then looks at the ground, composing his face again. This time Anne reaches for his hand, because this meeting is a bit strange and scary, and neither of them really know what to do with themselves.

But Aramis apparently knows what to do, as he takes her by the hand and has them both hidden behind the old tree trunk in an instant. His eyes roam, scanning the perimeter around them, his Musketeer senses serving him well. Then the soldier melts away, and he reaches a hand up to cup her face.

“I did not think it possible,” he begins, “but you have become even more beautiful.”

“Aramis,” she grits out, grasping his collar to pull him closer. “There is no time for flattery.”

Then they’re kissing and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Anne runs her tongue along his lower lip, just tasting the inside of his mouth. It makes him fall even further into her, and Aramis has to bring a hand up to brace both of them against the harsh bark of the tree trunk.

“Hey,” he says in-between kisses. “That wasn’t flattery. I speak the truth.”

“Please be quiet,” she says, sliding her grip from his shoulders down to the small of his back. “Or I will have to make you.”

“I like the sound of that,” he says, and she can feel him smiling against her mouth.

Anne presses her mouth hard against his for a moment, until there’s nothing between them except a bruise. Then she pulls back, and brings a hand up to his chest. Aramis falls back, looking at her with a new seriousness.

“What is weighing on your mind, ma chère?”

“The Cardinal is dead,” she says, a heaviness in her tone.

“Here I’ve been kissing you, and you’re thinking of dead Cardinals. I see!”

She pulls a face and swats at thin air, as though throwing his joke away. He gives a gentle smile, which she can’t help returning. And she realizes that was his goal, to lighten her mood.

“The Cardinal is dead,” she tries again. “But I’m still anxious.”

“You have no cause for concern,” Aramis says. His tone is so earnest, it’s endearing that he truly believes that. But Anne can’t help being more practical.

“Sadly I do. I wouldn’t mind so much putting myself at risk, but my son, _our_ son.” She says it out loud, and Aramis stands up a little straighter. “There are many people circling at the moment, trying to get the ear of the King. Louis enjoys having an advisor, and someone will replace Richelieu soon. Whoever it turns out to be, I will have a hard time trusting their motives.”

“An advisor to the King who does not set the Queen at ease is no friend to the crown, as we have found out. I will cut down anyone who upsets you,” Aramis vows. “Just say the word.”

“I know that you would, and I know that you could do it. But Aramis, we must be careful, you and I.”

Aramis nods and takes a step back, distancing himself from her. She doesn’t like it, feeling empty space opening up between them.

“The Dauphin is on a walk just now,” she begins. “The weather is so agreeable today, and his wetnurse and I thought it would be a good idea.” Aramis is fussing idly with his sword, not looking at her. “If we start walking across to the pond now, we should meet them on the pathway.”

Aramis goes very still for a second. It looks like he’s holding his breath, as though he’s too afraid to come to the conclusion he wants to. Finally he looks at her, hope and happiness just barely concealed. “Will you walk with me now?” He asks, echoing her from earlier.

They walk slowly, taking their time, as other people come into view: groundskeepers, some of the court ladies, Camille by the pond.

Anne recognizes Sophie the nurse, with the baby wrapped in blankets in her arms, as she rounds the corner by some hedges. Anne doesn’t look at Aramis, but touches two fingers to his wrist, letting the touch linger for a moment, before walking ahead.

“Hello, little prince!” she calls, and she greets her son and Sophie. She and Sophie chat for a moment, leaving Aramis to collect himself. Then she turns to Aramis. “Now you have met the Dauphin. What do you think?”

Aramis bends down to look more closely at the baby’s delicate features. He touches one finger to the baby’s hand, which is balled into a tiny fist. “I think,” Aramis says, looking up at Anne with shining eyes, “that there could hardly be a better baby in all of France.”

Anne gives a laugh. “I’m glad you think so, because I’ve been speaking with Sophie, and we’ve come up with an idea. Now that it’s spring we think it’s a good idea for the Dauphin to go out regularly for fresh air. Weather permitting, Sophie will take him out three times per week. We’d like you to accompany her and the Dauphin.”

“Me?” Aramis asks dumbly, unable to comprehend.

“Yes, we’d like you specifically to be here. One never knows who or what might be lurking in the garden, and we know you have the best aim in all of Paris. We thought you could meet Sophie right here at this point, and then accompany her to ensure that all is well while the Dauphin is outdoors.”

Aramis looks so overwhelmed that, for a second, Anne is afraid he might faint. It’s stupidly, sweetly endearing. He recovers himself with enough grace to give a bow.

“It would be my absolute privilege,” he says to Anne. And then turning to Sophie, he says, “I look forward to it, Madame.”

“It looks like this little one is getting sleepy,” Anne says, gently caressing her son’s cheek. “Sophie, you can head back inside now. Thank you for meeting us.”

Sophie says her goodbyes to both Anne and Aramis, and leaves with the baby. Anne can see Camille hovering by the pond, and she gives a little shake of her head to signal _not yet_. She just needs a moment more. Or rather, Aramis needs a moment, as he’s still looking too overcome to function.

“It’s only a small thing,” she says. “But it was the only way I could contrive for us all to be with each other for a moment. And now you will be with him regularly. I won’t be able to make it out for a walk every time—some rather tedious receiving duties often take over my afternoons. It will be a great comfort to me to know that you are with him when I cannot be.”

Anne watches for his reaction. His jaw is set, he swallows thickly, and then he finally looks at her. “Anna,” Aramis says, his voice low and tender.

“We are a family,” she says. “No one can know. It will have to be enough that we know. I said we should be careful, but we should also make whatever small effort we can to help one another.”

His eyes are full now, and a tear escapes, running down his cheek. “Look, the Queen has made me cry!” Aramis laughs at himself, trying to wipe away the tears, even as more fall.

“Please don’t cry, Musketeer. I have no handkerchief with me to dry your tears.”

But she reaches for his face anyway, and wipes away the remaining tears with her thumb. Aramis takes her right hand in his own, bringing her hand to his mouth, and pressing a kiss to her palm.

“You make me laugh,” he says. “You make me cry. You make me…” He brings her palm to his mouth again, and this time she feels the teasing edge of his teeth pressing into her skin. She bites her lip. “Good things,” he says, gently letting her hand fall. “You make me all the good things I can think of.” He wipes at his face again. “Those were the most joyful tears.”

Now it’s Anne’s turn to try holding back tears. “You already _are_ good,” she emphasizes. “I am happy to be good with you.”

Over by the pond Camille is attempting to make a graceful, but obvious gesture toward the palace, and Anne remembers that she’s supposed to be receiving some of the noblewomen for tea.

“I must go,” she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

“Of course.” Aramis, to his credit, doesn’t try to stop her or draw out their time together. He gives her a little bow and motions for her to walk ahead.

“I will send word over to the garrison about Sophie and The Dauphin’s schedule,” Anne says in as businesslike a tone as possible. “We’ll try to keep to a regular schedule. I know you have other Musketeer business, and I don’t want to infringe.”

“This will be my highest priority,” Aramis promises.

“We will see each other again soon, I hope.”

“I live in hope,” Aramis replies. “Au revoir, Anna.”

And with that, Aramis places his hat back on his head, and walks away, his blue cape billowing out behind him. Anne lets out a little laugh so as not to burst into tears.

Camille comes rushing over in a flurry. “My lady, the tea reception…”

“Yes,” Anne nods, still watching the receding figure of Aramis. “The reception, of course.”

 

Perhaps it had been selfish in the beginning.

Back in the convent Anne had seen Aramis sitting alone, his head bowed. She approached him, kneeled before him, and removed the musket from his hands. She had known that, in removing that last barrier between them, he would fall into her. He was no longer a soldier employed by the state and her husband. He was simply Aramis, and he could be hers.

But then Aramis had stood up to meet her, and guided her through to the next room toward the bed. At some point, it had stopped being selfish and turned into something mutual, reciprocated. Isn’t that part of love, the drive of mutual desire? Isn’t that what family does, helps to turn selfishness to selflessness?

Anne has another family waiting for her now inside the palace. She doesn’t resent it. Louis is good in his own way, and thankfully he’s mad about the baby. But it is hard to watch Aramis walk away, hard knowing that she was the one who stripped the gun from his grasp, turning him from a Musketeer to just Aramis for a little while. It is hard knowing they can’t be vulnerable like that with each other again.

Anne turns to face the palace and refuses to be overwhelmed in the face of the sprawling, opulent structure. She flexes her hands, harnessing all of her emotions, feeling the strength of them. No harm will come to either of her two families, because she is at the core of both, and she will not allow it.

Anne waves to Camille. “Please go on ahead,” she instructs. “Tell everyone that the Queen will be with them in a moment.”

 

_fin._


End file.
